I Will Burn You
by MorbidbyDefault
Summary: Post Reichenbach. Sherlock is alive, and has presumably destroyed Moriarty's ring. However, what will happen when someone from his past makes good on a promise?
1. Chapter 1

Okay, so for starters, I just want to say that Sherlock has become  
my most recent obsession. While I do not think Sherlock actually is  
interested in romantic relationships, I wonder sometimes what it would  
be like if he WERE. That also being said, I think that Molly Hooper is a  
lot stronger than most people give her credit for. I have watched all 6  
episodes over and over, and while she has a nervousness about her,  
it's not strictly around Sherlock. And she doesn't seem to trip over her  
words like some people portray her in the fics. I shall try to picture her  
well. Hence the fic I'm about to try writing. This is my first fanfiction, so  
please bear with me, as I'm sure my writing development has gone  
downhill in the past few years of writer's block. Hope you enjoy!

Oh, and I should mention, I don't own Sherlock, or anyone else for  
that matter. If I did, They would not be NEARLY as famous or awesome.  
Hats off To Sir ACD, as well as Mr.'s Moffat and Gattis.

* * *

Chapter One:

_She struggled against the ropes that bound her. Thrashing back and forth,  
until she lost most of her strength. It was dark, the sound of rain beating on  
the roof of whatever this place was. She had suspected an abandoned factory,  
but she couldn't be sure. Her eyes squinted as she tried to make out any light  
source possible._

There, just ahead of her, was a small glow. Red to orange, then back to red  
again. The embers of a lit cigarette were the only spark she could see. Then  
she heard it. She heard him. His slow, snakelike chuckle, as the embers drew  
closer to her.

"_Molly, Molly, Molly." The voice drawled. It made her shiver the way he said her name. _

"_Oh hush now, my dear. There's no need to be afraid. I promise this won't hurt  
one little bit." He walked toward her, closing the gap until she could see into his  
eyes. They were like a shark's eyes, after it picked up a scent of blood. Dilated,  
black, and cold. Then she felt something._

_A stinging pain on her arm. The sting turned into a burn. Burn to excruciating pain  
that made a tear spill from her eye. She looked down at her arm to see the cigarette  
embers gone, deep into her flesh. She tried to scream out in pain, for help, but she  
couldn't. His hands wrapped around her throat as she tried to fight him with what  
little strength she could muster.  
_

"_Oh, I guess I lied." He laughed. _

_He lit another cigarette, took a small puff, and immediately put it out on her arm,  
next to the first burn mark. He continued the process through the rest of the pack,  
searing her until the last one was put out against her bleeding skin._

"_By the way, dear Molly. Do give a message to that tall, beautiful man for me, will you?  
I'd Tell him myself, but you'll see him before I will." He smiled lightly at her, tilting his  
head towards one side._

"_Such a pity, your skin was so...flawless. I really did enjoy our time together.  
Sorry it didn't work out, though, you were the one who broke it off, so I suppose there's  
nothing to be sorry for." He said, in a slightly sing-song pitch._

"_Tell Sherlock, I told you so."_

* * *

_Chapter one done. I promise I shall write more soon, but I have to go do errands. Anyway,  
please tell me what you think. And be gentle, with me...this is my first time. ;) Ta-ta  
Lovelies!  
_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two:

* * *

Three weeks earlier:

"Molly, we've got a new one for you." Said one of the nurses.  
She looked up to see all three of them looking rather distraught.  
Then she turned to see the figure on the gurney. Sherlock. His  
body was still, coat spilling over the sides of the cart, a lifeless  
hand dangling off one of the sides.

"He jumped. Just now. We check for any sign of saving him, but  
it must have been a fatal impact." She looked up to see that her  
friend, Mary, was the one speaking. She slowly glanced from Sherlock's  
body back up at Molly.

"Oh, Molls, I'm so sorry. I know how much you cared about him."  
She sobbed, practically running over to embrace her in a sympathetic  
hug. Molly wrapped her arms around Mary slowly, and then squeezed as  
tightly as her friend was grasping onto her. She looked over Mary's shoulder  
to stare at his stiff body, hoping that he was actually still alive.  
Moments later, Mary released her and spoke again.

"Do you want me to get Stamford to do it? The autopsy, I mean. I'm sure  
he wouldn't mind." Molly just shook her head a little.

"No, I think I need to do it. I'm sure He would have fussed over having  
Stamford following the wrong procedure, or would have wanted him  
to break the correct procedures." She let out a sad chuckle.

"Alright, well, I'll leave you to it, then. If you need anything at all,  
you have my number." With a final glance, Mary and the other two  
nurses left Molly standing alone, next to the supposed corpse of Mr.  
Sherlock Holmes.

She had waited for around 15 minutes, which felt like hours.  
She had almost drifted off to sleep when she heard a low moan  
coming from the table across the room. She jumped up and raced  
over to Sherlock's side.

"Oh thank God." She breathed.

His eyes squinted as he adjusted to the bright light overhead  
and he looked around spasmodically, until he focused on her  
face.

"Molly. It would seem that my fake jump worked according to  
plan, yes?" He said in a clipped, albeit, hoarse tone.  
She nodded her head and smiled slightly down at him.

"Well, it was a success in the fact that you're still alive. But  
your injuries are rather bad." She said, gently pulling an arm from  
his coat. He gritted through his teeth as pain shot up and down  
the left side of his body.

"A few broken ribs, your shoulder was out of place, I reset it  
while you were still out cold." She said, slowly removing the other  
arm. He moaned loudly, realizing this must be said shoulder.

"Has anyone come in to ask about my status?" He asked.

"No. Though, I couldn't imagine them letting anyone in the  
hospital at this point. Too much press exposure, too much shock  
to be sent to the other patients. I think they barred the doors." She  
said, as she slowly unbuttoned his shirt. He looked down at her hands,  
they were shaking.

"Would you like some assistance, Molly?" He asked curtly, slowly  
gliding his fingers to where hers were and lightly pushed them aside.  
She flinched ever so slightly at the contact, and simply nodded her head.

"I need to go get some gauze rolls to wrap your shoulder and ribs." She  
said, turning around and briskly walking across the room. When she returned,  
he had removed his shirt and was sitting up on the slab, his long legs dangling  
over the edge.

"How are we going to get you out of here?" She asked a few minutes into her  
wrapping session. She looked up at him, his eyes staring down at her hands,  
assessing her movements.

"We'll have to wait until it's rather late, when most of the staff has gone home."  
He responded a moment later. "I will need a little rest to regain any strength to  
carry myself out of here, as I'm sure you're small frame wouldn't be able to help  
much in that scenario." He let out a small grin, which was immediately replaced  
by his usual, straight face.

"And where are you going to rest until then? People will definitely notice  
if there is a live man pretending to be dead on one of my gurneys. Should they, you  
know, break into the hospital." She said.

"Oh just stick me in one of the closets, it'll help me think. The dark, confined space  
will make for a proper gateway to my mind palace." He said, as if it was an obvious  
choice for sleeping quarters.

She let out a small chuckle, before realizing he was rather serious. She then turned  
towards the wall of doors and opened one towards the end.

"Alright then, hop up here." She motioned him towards the rolling out slab in the  
wall. As he hopped up, his body jarred with the sudden motion of landing and he  
let out a grunt of pain, his hands instinctively grasping Molly's forearm's for support.

"CAREFUL!" She scolded, not wanting him to be hurt, and also not wanting to have  
to reset his bum shoulder. "Okay, now, just rest in here for awhile, I'll wake you  
up when it's safe to leave." He nodded, lying back onto the cold slab in an almost  
vampiric way, as she pushed him into the dark closet and closed the door.

Sherlock closed his eyes, and began to think. Soon, nature took over, and he fell to sleep.

* * *

Lalalalalala! chapter two. Let me know what you think.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three:

* * *

Molly had dozed off and on, after securing the door to the morgue with a chair  
so she wouldn't be disturbed. She closed her eyes for what seemed like a few minutes.  
When she awoke, the lights outside the morgue window were dim, and the windows to  
outside indicated that it was night. She looked at her watch.

"1:30 am." She whispered. Surely now would be the perfect time for Sherlock and her  
to leave without being seen. She pulled herself off the stool and made her way over to  
the storage locker where she had stowed him away. She opened the door slowly, trying  
to be quiet, so as not to frighten him.

She then slowly pulled out the moving cart on its rollers and looked at the man that lie  
fast asleep on the gurney. He looked peaceful, his hands folded together across his  
chest. His breathing was steady, deep. She tilted her head and smiled a little as she  
watched him breathing in and out. She almost hated to wake him, but it was now or never.  
She placed a small hand on the side of his face, gently rubbing it across his cheekbone. His  
eyes opened slowly, as if he had been blinking instead of sleeping, and they focused on  
her. She smiled weakly.

"Good morning. It's time to go. Do you think you can manage?" She asked, helping him  
into a sitting position.

He slowly moved his joints, wincing when it was too much pain, but nodding nevertheless.

"Yes, I think I will be able to make it out of here quite sufficiently. We are going to  
your flat, correct?" He stated, more than asked. She nodded her head as she walked across  
the room to fetch her bag and coat, along with his. She helped each of his arms back into  
his coat, carefully moving with his contoured body shape due to the stiff gauze that held his  
muscles still.

They took the neglected hallways of St. Bart's toward the back doors. Once they reached  
outside, they quickly took to alleyways and side streets until reaching Molly's small flat, no  
more than 20 blocks from the hospital itself. Molly felt through her bag for the keys to her flat,  
occasionally shaking the bag, redistributing its contents to the other side. She finally found them,  
and pulled them out of the bag. With a quick turn of the wrist, the door was opened, and they  
walked inside. Sherlock's deductive nature quickly kicked into gear as he eyed the different aspects  
of her small apartment. A small kitchen, not even big enough for a table and chairs. A horrid looking  
floral print sofa, obviously a thrift purchase for a younger person on a budget. Old bookshelves,  
accumulated over a long period of time, filled with books of all different genres. Obviously a quiet,  
shy childhood, most of her time spent indoors reading. That would explain her ever pale complexion  
and fair skin. The walls were a dull eggshell white, few pictures of any familiar people, mostly  
canvases and posters of favorite places or scenes.

He glanced to his left, spotting the hallway the led, no doubt, to her bathroom and bedroom. Most  
likely a small loo with the basic necessities, but nothing extravagant. Possibly pink accents, but too  
early to say. Bedroom, definitely small, only room for a full size bed and perhaps a small wardrobe or  
desk. His thoughts were interrupted by a small sound. It came from behind him, toward the kitchen.  
He turned to investigate. Molly was there, filling a small kettle and placing it on the stove. She turned  
toward him and smiled.

"I figured a soothing cup would do you some good." She said cheerfully. "Why don't you make yourself  
comfortable, do you need anything? Anything at all?" The words from earlier the previous day echoed in  
his brain. He grinned swiftly, and shook his head.

"No, just the tea will do. Thank you." He responded, as he slowly peeled his coat off his arms. He then  
made his way to the hideous looking couch and promptly plopped down onto its cushions. It surprised  
him, for being something so disgusting in appearance, it was actually very comfortable. Minutes later, Molly  
rounded the couch with two cups in her hand. She placed one on the small coffee table in front of Sherlock,  
the other in her hand, clearly for her.

"So," she started, "what is the next step? What are you going to do next? And how can I be of help? Can  
I be of any help? I just- I want to make sure you have what you need." She said, thinking out loud of how  
to get her point across.

"I have a few ideas. Right now though, I would like for you to go and rest. You look completely exhausted,  
Molly. I can't see how much help you would be if you can't manage to keep your eyes open." He responded  
indifferently. She caught herself nodding off again, and then nodding her head in agreement.

"Okay, but just...just do me a favor, alright? Don't, don't leave without letting me know what your plan is."  
She asked, knowing the response would be annoyance.

"I assure you that I do not plan on leaving you in the dark." He said, his eyes wandering around the room.  
He was lying, he knew it. She knew it too. Her response surprised him.

"Please. Please just, just don't leave without saying goodbye. At least do me that one small favor." She  
said, her head looking down away from him.

"I promise." He said, then motioning for her to go to bed, he took place on the couch, clearly ready to  
think through his options for the next step.

A few hours later, he had it. He practically jumped off the sofa, almost forgetting about his injuries, until  
they made themselves known with a dull stab of pain throughout his torso and arms. He retrieved his coat  
from the hanger near Molly's front door, and slid it on over his stiffened shoulder blades. He reached for the  
doorknob, but stopped. Looking back toward the dark hallway, he turned and headed toward the door that  
led into Molly's room.

He slowly opened the door, the light from the kitchen dimly glowing into the room, and shining light on the  
small frame in the bed. He quietly walked toward her, lowering himself over her now sleeping body. She  
breathed in and out softly, a look of worry written on her face. He placed a small kiss on her cheek before  
leaning towards her ear and whispering,

"Goodbye Molly Hooper. Thank you, for everything."

He turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. Then out of the small apartment,  
and into the cold, rainy streets of London.

* * *

So my errands didn't take as long as I thought, and I suddenly had a lot of REALLY good ideas as to where  
I want to take this story, but I think I may end for now...just to keep people wanting more...if you want  
more. Which I hope you do. Because I'm writing regardless, so deal with it. lol. Thanks for reading!

BYE FOR NOW LOVELIES


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four:

* * *

Two weeks later:

Sherlock crouched behind the bins in the alleyway, his  
shoulders square with the cold stone wall behind him.  
He slowly peered around the corner to see his target swiveling  
back and forth as he walked closer from the other end of the  
alley. Sherlock could clearly see the large rifle he held in his hands.

He had recalled back to the week before, finding the two of Moriarty's  
men that were trained onto Lestrade and dear Mrs. Hudson. That left  
one for him to find, Sebastian Moran. It had been a much more tedious  
task than he had thought it would be, but finally, he caught wind through  
the homeless network of Moran's location.

Bringing him out of his thought was a sudden noise, Moran's voice.  
''I know you're down here, Mr. Holmes.'' He said, a snide grin behind  
the voice.

Sherlock took stock of his surroundings, finding what he could use to  
his advantage. He played out each scenario in his mind. No doubt Moran  
was an excellant marksman, but what of the extra patter in his step?  
Possible injury? No. It's consistent, like it has been there for a prolonged  
amount of time. Most likely its owner had a childhood ailment: left foot,  
pigeon toe. He could use that. Slight slur in his speech, he was hung over.  
Sherlock grinned, he had his plan. With his mind ready, he stepped out from  
behind the large dumpster bins.

Moran wheeled himself around to face Sherlock. Before he could take aim  
with the rifle, Sherlock was there. His elbow jabbed into Sebastian's ribcage,  
causing a sick cracking sound. Next he took his right foot and stepped down  
onto Moran's left foot, kicking it at the ankle joint, which caused the ankle to  
twist. This sent Moran to the ground, spilling the rifle out of his grip. Sherlock  
quickly scooped the gun off the ground. He flipped it, took aim at Moran, and  
suddenly, stopped. Moran was laughing.

''Please, let me in on the joke.'' Sherlock said, slightly confused at the manic  
behavior.

''You see, it doesn't matter if you kill me or not.'' He smiled. ''You can go back  
to the life you once knew, but someday, someone will get to you. They will hurt,  
they will burn you. Right to your very core.'' His chuckle grew more morbid and sick.

A spark of recognition shot threw Sherlock's head. That one word: burn. He  
shoved the gun into Moran's cheek.

''Tell me where he is. He's back isn't he? Tell me!" Sherlock shouted. Moran's  
laughter grew again, this time intertwined with hints of pain. Sherlock rolled  
his eyes before pulling the trigger.

The alley went silent.

* * *

Okay, stupid tablet is not a good place to write a fanfiction apparently.  
Anyway, hope you like the new chapters! I will be posting more today,  
however, I am part of the working class, so...duty calls. Have a good  
day lovelies! Please Review! Tell your friends! PLEEEAASSSEEE?


	5. Chapter 5

Special thanks to harveygirl for my very first review! It made me smile. Any who, here's the next chapter. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 5:

Two days later:

Molly nearly spat her tea out of her mouth as she turned up the volume of the telly. There, on the screen, was the tall, pale image of Sherlock Holmes, accompanied by Dr. John Watson. Apparently he was back. She smiled to herself. Good. Maybe life would be better from this point on.

She watched the set as Sherlock and John made their way through the sea of flashing cameras and microphones being thrust in their faces. Molly could make out a dark bruise under Sherlock's eye. No doubt a result of the reaction John must have had to seeing his supposed-to-be-dead flatmate standing on the doorstep of 221B. She let a smirk settle on her face. That must have been a sight. She turned the television off and proceeded with her morning routine for work.

At St. Bart's:

Molly sat on the metal stool in the lab, eyes glued to the microscope in front of her. She furrowed her brow in frustration, perplexed by the lack of findings on the sample of Mrs. Winston's blood. She was supposedly a diabetic, supposed accidental overdose of insulin. However, there was no trace of the artificial chemical in her blood at all. In fact, she couldn't even get the dead woman's blood to register a level at all.

"This doesn't make any sense!" She heaved, throwing her arms up in the air before promptly dropping them on the counter. She went to rub the sides of her head near her temples. Obviously a stress induced headache. Before her hands reached either side of her face, she felt a light pressure. As if they were already there. She jumped at the contact that was not caused by herself and twisted the stool around. Towering above her was none other than Sherlock. His hands were still at the height her head was at.

"Please, allow me.'' He said. His hands turned her around in her stool again, so she was now facing the microscope. They then returned to the sides of her face, applying a small, but firm pressure on her temples. She sighed, allowing her stiff neck to relax and leaning back against his torso.

''So, you're back?" She asked, trying hard not to fall asleep. He hummed in response.

''I wanted to come see you, to deliver the news in person. However, the press got quick wind and flocked Baker Street like the plague. I apologize for you having to find out that way.'' He spoke. His hands continued to rub little circles on her brow, moving around to the crown of her head and back.

''It's alright Sherlock.'' She whispered. Molly slowly opened her eyes and looked up, only to meet the gaze of Sherlock's fiercely blue ones. His eyes grazed over her fair complexion, from her forehead where his fingers worked, down the side of her face to her cheekbones. Then across the bridge of her nose and down to her mouth. He returned his vision to her eyes. Beautiful, light, and hazel brown. His lips parted as he went to speak again.

''Molly, I wanted to tell you thank you. For all that you sacrificed for me.'' She smiled sweetly at his obvious discomfort for feeling words. ''I am so grateful for your actions. You protected John, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, and myself.'' His eyes searched her face, trying to relieve his confusion. Why was he feeling so, so... he didn't even have the words to describe this sensation. His fingers sought the answer by touching her smooth face. They slowly scooped to her shoulders as he turned her around to face him once again. She looked up into his eyes with such caring, such love.

He found his hands returning to her face. His long fingers graced her cheeks, then moved up and down slowly. His hands drank in the caress of her delicate skin as he slid his hands down either side of her neck. Molly shivered under this touch, and slowly lifted her hand to the side of his face.

''Sherlock, I would do anything for you.'' She whispered softly, as her thumb rubbed the tight skin on his cheekbone. She smiled at him sweetly, trying to wordlessly convey the message of her devotion to him. Then, everything became a little fuzzy. His actions were fast, catlike almost. His head swooped down to meet hers as he tangled his lips within her own. She felt his hands on the back of her head and neck as he held her close. She felt as though he was trying to breathe her in like air. Her hands found their way up to his shoulders, then one around his neck, while the other entwined in his dark curly locks. Their lips danced against each other, in attempts to attain more contact. Finally, and only when they were without air, did they separate.

Sherlock breathed in deeply, his nose engulfed in the scent of her hair. Strawberry shampoo, generic brand. It was intoxicating. Meanwhile, Molly found herself breathing in the odor of his cologne. He smelled of pine and spice. They slowed their breathing before looking at each other.

''That was...'' he started, unable to find the proper word. He felt her grin into his chest. ''What's the word, Molly?" He asked, obviously perplexed by the new feelings he underwent.

''Wonderful would be an understatement.'' She giggled in response. She looked back up at him, almost laughing at the expression it held. Pure loss, Sherlock looked like a little kid who was discovering Christmas. His eyes were filled with a complete mix of emotions. Then, realization swept across his face with a spirited grin. His eyes seemed to darken as he reached for her face again. Her hands instinctively wrapped around his neck as they joined their mouths again, in another longing kiss.

''Sherlock, I phoned Mrs. Hudson to let her know we'd be back in time for lunch. We better get a move o-oh.'' Sherlock and Molly quickly broke apart at the sudden sound of John's voice, clearly in shock at the sight of Sherlock leaning Molly backward against the cold lab counter. Molly turned a bright shade of crimson red as she turned to see the equally red face of Dr. Watson. His smile echoed that of a Cheshire cat's, his apparent amusement proudly displaying on his face.

''Well, what are you waiting for? It's nearly 6:00. Wouldn't want to keep Mrs. Hudson waiting.'' Sherlock replied, his usual stoic voice ringing out impatiently. John looked expectantly at Sherlock, waiting for social politeness to register in his mind. Ah, there it is.

''OH! Molly, would you care to join us for supper? Mrs. Hudson has apparently decided to host a party for my return.'' He said, smiling down at her.

''Oh, that would be lovely. I haven't seen Mrs. Hudson since, well, since your unfortunate departure.'' She answered, still flustered by the sudden discovery of her interlacing with Sherlock. They turned and exited out of the lab. Molly turned and locked the door, before speaking again.

''Oh, I should probably rush home first and get the scent of death off my skin.'' She nervously chuckled. She was always self-conscious of the smell on her clothing, in her hair, grasping her skin. The two men nodded and they separated from her. Sherlock hailing a taxi as John waved to her, hollering something about seeing her soon.

She turned and walked the five minutes back to her flat. She held her keys in her hand as she twisted them with the lock. She turned the knob with the click, and entered. Molly had showered quickly, and rummaged through her dresser for a suitable outfit. She pulled out a knee length, navy blue cocktail dress. After pulling it over her head, she adjusted its cap sleeves and flowing skirt until she deemed it acceptable. She quickly powdered her nose and applied a light pink lipgloss across her lips. She pulled her comb through her still damp hair, making sure to give it a small amount of lift. Checking over herself in the mirror she smiled. 'This will do.' She thought. She walked through her flat, reaching for her bag and keys. She flipped open her phone and sent a text.

'Just leaving the flat now. Be there in ten.'  
-M- She hit the send button and reached the door. She pulled it open and immediately dropped her bag, keys and phone.

''Long time, no see, Molly Hooper.''

OoOoOoOo

So, what do you think? This chapter was a lot of fun to write, considering I had almost the whole thing planned in my head while at work. Read and review please! Have a good evening lovelies!


	6. Chapter 6

Another chapter up! Yaaaaay! Just another reminder, I don't own anything except the plot of this particular story. No Sherlock, no, Molly, no Baker St, or any thing/body else. Just the plot. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Six:

At 221B Baker St.

Mrs. Hudson was rushing in and out of the kitchen, carrying platefuls of sweeties and other assorted foods. She had refused help, even though both John and Lestrade had offered their assistance. The three men sat in the living area, John in his chair, Lestrade in the chair opposite him. Sherlock was crouched on the desk chair in front of the window, watching the street below like a gargoyle. John felt his phone buzz, followed by the familiar chime of an incoming text. Seconds later, Sherlock's phone had done the same. They pulled out their cells at the same time, each reading the message.

'Just leaving the flat. Be there in ten.'  
-M-

John looked over to Sherlock, who was twirling his phone happily between his thumb and index fingers. He smiled, noting the effect that Molly had on his friend's mood.

''Stop it, John.'' Came a low sarcastic groan from the man in the window. John opened his mouth to argue, but saw it rather pointless. Rolling his eyes, he turned to Lestrade and continued listening to his story of how Donavon and Anderson had reacted to learning of Sherlock's return from the dead.

''I swear she almost cried, and not in a happy sort either. You know, Sherlock, you really could have at least clued me in on it. I could have helped.'' Lestrade said, more to the room than to Sherlock. The response was a short grunt. John simply shook his head and grinned. A few minutes passed, and Mrs. Hudson had brought out a tray of tea for them all. The three sat with their tea, sipping and chatting away. It was only after a few minutes that John noticed Sherlock standing by the window, pacing shortly back and forth, while constantly looking toward the street in front of the flat.

''Sherlock? What's wrong?" John asked.

''Late.'' Was the response.

''How's that?" John asked, not understanding what he had said.

''Late John! Can't you hear? Or can you not read?" It's been more than ten minutes! She's late!" Sherlock answered heatedly.

John hadn't even paid attention to the time, but Sherlock was right. It had been more than ten minutes. He looked at his watch. Twenty minutes to be precise. He looked up at his flatmate, knowing what his overactive brain must be thinking.

''Look, she may have just had trouble catching a cab.'' John tried reassuring. Failing. Sherlock glared across the room at him.

''It's nearly dark out, and Molly would have dolled herself a bit for a party. She's not unattractive, John. She would have had cabbies lining up to take her!" He bellowed, clearly offended that John would suggest such difficulty.

''Sherlock, you know what I mean.'' John said, trying to ease the tension. ''Why don't you just call her and see where she is?"

''I wou-" Sherlock's voice cut out. Apparently that thought hadn't crossed his mind. He paused in midpace, turning to John. ''John, fetch me my phone.'' He commanded.

Lestrade glanced over at John in disbelief, knowing full well it was in his jacket, which was on his person. John sighed, stood, and walked over to where Sherlock stood. Lestrade's eyes widened in even more amazement that John gave in. John's hand reached into Sherlock's dark suit jacket, retrieving the slim phone. He placed it in Sherlock's expectant hand and returned to his seat. Sherlock located Molly's name in his contact list and tapped the call button.  
Ring.  
Ring.  
Ring.  
Ring.  
Ring.  
''Hi..erm, hello. You've got my cellular, but managed to miss me. Um, just leave a message and I'll phone you back as soon as I'm available. Bye!" Sherlock's finger had hit the end button before the voicemail started recording. He did not do voicemail messages. He tried the phone again.  
Ring.  
Ring.  
Ring.  
Ri-  
Sherlock's ear perked up as he heard the ringing stop, and a low, quiet breathing start in its place.

''Hello?" He asked in a low voice.  
Nothing.  
''Molly? Is that you? Where are you?" He asked, listening intently. Then, the breath in his own lungs left him as he heard a voice on the other end.

''WROOONG!"

John looked at Sherlock, whose face had gone from a light shade of cream, to ghostly white. He stood up and took three short strides to where his friend was stopped.

''Where is she? What have you done with her?" Sherlock asked in a calm, low register. He mentally took stock of all the background noises coming from the receiver. Small echo. Traffic passing outside. Small gasping noises, barely audible. However, Sherlock's ears had locked onto them, as if they were the only sounds in existance. Molly.

''Well, I can't tell you the answer, silly! That's cheating!'' Came the slithery voice. ''I want to have a BIT of fun before you ruin the game.''

''Give me one clue. I'm entitled to a starting clue, am I not?" Sherlock asked moments later. The phone on the other end of the line shifted, and a new sound entered his ears.

''Sssher..lock?" It was a whimper. Hardly detectable. Sherlock clung to it for dear life. It spoke again. ''Sherlock? Are you there?"

''Molly? I'm here. Are you alright? Has he harmed you?" Sherlock asked, his own voice on the verge of breaking. ''Molly, I will find you, and I will kill him. I promise.''

''Ah,ah,ah. That's too many questions, Sherlock!" Came the first voice. It let out an eerie chuckle into Sherlock's ear. ''And you shouldn't make promises you can't keep. I'll send you little gifts, little clues about our game with little miss Molly. And then you can play detective all you want.''

The line went dead. Sherlock's grip on the phone loosened, as it slipped and crashed to the floor. John made it to his friend just as he followed the phone, slipping to the floor quickly.

''Molly.''

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Dundundun. Well, what do you think? R&R! Goodnight lovelies!


	7. Chapter 7

Thanks for the reviews from:  
Coloradoandcolorado1 Whose fic, ''The Lonely'', you should go read.  
And Nocturnias, who just writes SOOO many good fics, I really just recommend you read them all.  
And now onto the newest chapter:

* * *

Chapter Seven:

Sherlock rummaged through the room, finding any clues he could. He picked up folders with her name on it. 'Music', no, that wouldn't help. He tossed it aside and picked up another file. 'Father'. Hardly conclusive, as he was already diseased before Molly even met him. He flung it over by the others. His eyes caught sight of a jar in the corner, labeled with a light pink sticker. He stood and walked to it. He bent over, picked it up, and read the label. 'Hair.' Sherlock slowly unscrewed the cap to the small bottle, and was immediately overrun by the scent of strawberries. It infected the entire room, completely infusing itself in his nose. Sherlock slowly slid down the wall and put his head in his hands. He could hear her small voice call out his name. Ever so sweetly. 'Sherlock.' It softly echoed. He grinned sadly, trying to hear it again. 'Sherlock?' Again, the sweetness of her voice chimed in his ears.

''SHERLOCK!" He was abruptly interrupted by John shaking him by the shoulders. Sherlock looked up at John, slightly confused. He looked around to see that Mrs. Hudson was gone, as was Lestrade.

''John. What time is it?" He asked, noticing the daylight breaking through the curtains.

''It's about 6:00 am.'' He answered. ''You went to your mind palace almost immediately after hanging up the phone. That was 11 hours ago.'' John said, looking concerned.

''We have to find her, John.'' Sherlock sighed a moment later. John merely answered with a nod. John stood from where he had been kneeling in front of Sherlock. He pulled out his phone as phoned Lestrade.

''Hey, Greg, yea. He's finally come to. You want us to head over there? Alright, see you soon.'' He hung up the phone and turned to Sherlock again.

''Sherlock, come on. We've got to go to Molly's flat. Seems he left you a clue there.'' Sherlock was already on his feet, flinging his coat around his shoulders and stepping to the door.

The two men ran down the stairs and out onto Baker Street. Sherlock hailed a taxi with a swift wave of his arm. As they sat in the cab, Sherlock's eyes stared harshly out the window. John's eyes looked between his own window, and at Sherlock. He had never seen him act this way before, not even when they had encountered The Woman. Ten minutes passed and they found themselves stepping out of the car and on the street in front of Molly's flat. Police cars and yellow caution tape surrounded the residency. John waved over Lestrade, who looked like he hadn't slept since the day prior. He walked over and held up the yellow band of tape that separated them, allowing Sherlock and John to duck under and enter the scene.

''I'm not sure what to make of it. I'm not sure anyone will but you.'' He said, looking up at Sherlock's stern face. They stepped inside and walked up the small flight of stairs that led to Molly's front door. Sherlock froze just outside the doorway, his mind already analyzing the scene.

'No keys, bag or phone. He obviously took them with her. Door still unlocked, slightly ajar. Small scratch marks on the wooden framing of the door toward the inside where it closed. She tried to free herself, tried to run away.' All thoughts stopped with what he saw next. There, on the floor, were three small puddles of blood. He leaned in, looking more closely at the small crimson pools. They had started to join together, being drawn to each other by a tether of strawberry blonde strands of hair. 'Head injury then. He had to knock her out to get her to move anywhere.' He internally praised Molly for having strength to fight, but it was quickly flushed away as he eyed the spots of her blood on the floor. He stood upright again and turned to John and Lestrade.

''You said he left a clue.'' Lestrade nodded and pointed to the inside of the flat. Sherlock slowly pushed open the door and lost his breath at the sight of his clue. The walls of Molly's flat were covered in dark red letters of varying size.

''I.O.U.'' Sherlock mouthed to himself. John walked in behind Sherlock, his eyes widening at the sight. He glanced to Sherlock, whose eyes were now wild with unadulterated rage, his teeth gritting, and his hands clenched into tight fists.

''Sherlock...?" John began to ask, but stopped as his friend wheeled around and swept down the hall to Molly's bedroom. He grabbed the handle and slammed open the door. The walls in her room echoed that of the living space and kitchen. His eyes reeled across the many I.O.U.'s that plastered the white walls. He saw something out of the corner of his eye, laying on her small bed. He approached it, carefully picking up the small token. It was a tube of ruby red lipstick. Sherlock's mind flashed with the recognition of the color. It had been the shade Molly wore at Christmas. He stuffed the small tube into his pocket as Letrade and John walked in.

''What does it mean, Sherlock?" John asked, clear bewilderment in his tone. Sherlock twisted to face them.

''It's a riddle, John. It means I will have to confront something I despise.'' He answered.

''What's that?" Letrade asked next. Sherlock rolled his eyes, knowing they didn't see the answer.

''No idea yet.'' He finished, walking out of the room and down the stairs from Molly's flat. All the while, his fingers rolled the tube of lipstick back and forth inside his pocket. He knew the answer already, and it made him wonder what game was being played.

'Sentiment.' His thoughts repeated.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

So I wanted to involve a clue that has perplexed me, the I.O.U.'s. I was going to try to include some of my theories as to their meaning...but alas, I have none. Therefore, I'm using it as a NEW riddle. Lol. Hope you enjoy this chapter. Read and review please! Later lovelies!


	8. Chapter 8

Thanks to Carrisa for the review. Hope this is soon enough. Lol

* * *

Chapter Eight:

Meanwhile

Molly slowly opened her eyes, immediately feeling the throbbing pain at the back of her head. Her eyes strained to focus, unable to shake the double vision that clouded them. She blinked furiously, sending tiny sparks off in all directions, at least in her sight. A few minutes later, she had achieved her goal. This didn't help much, considering there was nothing to meet her gaze but pitch black. Molly racked her brain trying to remember what had happened. She went to lift her hand to the sore spot on the back of her pounding head, but found she was being stopped by something. She wriggled her arms again in attempts to gain motion, but again, no success. Panic induced adrenaline welled up in her chest as she wrestled against the mysterious force.

''Hello?" She cried, on the verge of tears. The only answer was the echo of her own voice. She tried again.

''Hello? Is someone there? Please! Help me!" She stopped when she heard the slow sound of footsteps approaching her in the dark. They stopped behind her. Silence regained strength for minutes. Then, a low chuckle took over, directly behind her left ear. It breathed in, and chuckled again, darker than the first. Molly began to cry as she tried to escape, hyperventilation setting in swiftly. The owner of the dark laugh never said a word. Instead, it breathed in and out, slowly blowing hot air along her neck. She shuddered against the contact with her skin, tears rolling down her face. Then, she heard a slick metallic sound, promptly followed by the sound of ripping fabric. Her dress. Her captor slid the shredded material from behind and up over the front of her shoulders, revealing her back to the cold air. She shivered and the chuckle returned.

Molly next heard a small clicking sound. She couldn't place its source, but discovered it soon enough, as her back was invaded with a hot burning sensation. Fire. She screamed as it spread across her flesh, all the while the twisted, dark laughter growing behind her.

OoOoOoOoOo

Sherlock paced the floor of 221B. His hands rubbed together just underneath his chin. Think. He had to think. He hashed out thousands of scenarios in his mind, all of them ending in disaster. That wasn't an option. He had to get her back. The word burrowed further in his mind.

'Sentiment.'

He turned himself toward the couch and flung himself into a horizontal position on its cushions. He hadn't even noticed John at the end where his feet landed. John gave a noise of aggravation, before twisting his legs out from underneath Sherlock's, and walking to the kitchen. Sherlock ruffled his hands through his hair before focusing on the path to his mind palace. He walked up the cobblestone street until he was faced with it. Stepping inside, he briskly found himself at the lovely corridor labeled 'Molly'. He walked through the door and was greeted by a warm laughter and the delicious aroma of fresh strawberries.

The laugh he had logged away some time ago. Molly had been in the cafeteria with her friend...Martha, Margie, Mary... that didn't matter. He had been standing next to John, when the sound echoed from a corner behind him. It immediately grasped his attention. It was beautiful, melodious. He turned to see the two women glancing at her phone, obviously looking at something that he would deem pointless. However, the sound emitted from her again and he quickly recorded it, not knowing when it would next ring out. Sherlock smiled to himself at the memory, wishing he could hear laugh in person. Even her nervous giggle would suffice.

'Hm. Interesting. He certainly is getting me to confront the notions of sentiment.' Sherlock thought to himself. He was rather miffed that it had snuck into his system so easily, so undetected. He turned and left the corridor in his mind, and found himself going to another one. He approached the door, and cautiously opened it. The label was dark, but the name was bright and easy to read.

'Jim Moriarty.'

Sherlock spent hours in this room, haphazardly throwing the files of information from one side of the room to the other. He filtered through all the things that linked Jim to Molly. Their interactions on her blog. Their three dates. The first time she introduced him to Sherlock and John. He stopped. He turned to the page of that day. Sherlock had been particularly moody as soon as Molly reacted to the mysterious bloke in the doorway. Her face seemed to light up upon his entrance into the lab. Sherlock grew impatient. This 'boy' was obviously not interested in her physically or romantically. Gay. He had seen it right away. This man was using Molly for some unknown reason. He didn't like that. He needed to inform Molly. She had not reacted the way he'd hoped. She ran off through the doors to the lab. A realization struck Sherlock as he immediately found himself back on the couch of 221B. Of course.

''Stupid, stupid, stupid.'' He'd said to himself. He had just sat up on the couch, when there was a knock on the door. He glared over at it, as John walked to see who it was. When he opened the door, in place of a person, sat a box. The box merely had Sherlock's name across it in black permanent ink. John picked up the box carefully and handed it over to Sherlock, who carelessly tore it open. The contents had been wrapped in tissue paper, as if it were a gift. Sherlock's hands worked fast at removing the thin fragile paper and throwing it on the floor. He picked out the 'present', feeling it between his fingers. The material was a beautiful dark, navy blue. Cotton, but a finer quality than normal store bought items. He held it up to see what it was. The rest flowed gracefully down, revealing its identity. It was a dress. Sherlock had been so intrigued by it, that he didn't notice the note that fell from the box. John picked it up, and held it in front of himself to show Sherlock.

The paper's edges were a black carbon color, obviously put through a small flame for the desired effect. The words on the paper matched the trim in color and texture. Two little words that carried an enormous weight to Sherlock's mind.

'Getting Warmer.'

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

So, what do you think? I know, it's dark...but then again, that's Jim for ya! Hope you like it. Read and review! It is the weekend, which either means more chapters...or less. Oh the anticipation! Have a grand day lovelies!


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter nine:

* * *

Two days later

Molly's head rolled from the kinked position it was in as she came to. She remembered feeling the small flame being dragged across her back, slowly, painfully. She remembered the feeling of the cold air hitting her smoldering skin, causing it to burn even more. She slowly realized that this was no longer the case. Instead she felt a smooth material covering her upper body, and remaining in touch with the skin on her thighs. Perhaps it was a shirt. She couldn't tell. She was just happy not to be exposed to the chilly air. She could still make out the ropes that bound her. Molly vaguely recalled slipping in and out of consciousness during her torture session, before finally caving under the pressure.

She felt a small tear slide down her cheek as she pondered her fate. Surely Sherlock would be looking for her. Right? She shook the doubt from her mind. That was when he spoke.

''Goodness me Molly. Such a mess you've found yourself in, eh?" He sung into her voice was dry and hoarse as she spoke back.

''Why are you keeping me here?" She asked. Her throat felt tight and arid as she continued the questions. ''Why are you doing this to me?" She sobbed lightly. He chuckled a little before answering.  
''Hm, oh Molly. So plain, so oblivious. I'm not doing this to you. I'm doing it to Him.''  
''What could hurting me possibly do to Sherlock?" She asked, fairly confused. The words that he spoke next ran cold chills through her very soul. It was all the evil this monster manifested inside, rolled into one psychotic monologue.

''You see. Sherlock and I are exactly alike. With one little difference. He seems to have a nasty little case of the caring bug. If I help heal him, then we can play cat-and-mouse to no end. However. There is just ONE little thing standing in the way of me having Sherlock's undivided attention.'' ''That's where you come into play, my sweet.'' He whispered. ''If I hurt you, in an especially cruel manner, then he'll just HAVE to pay attention, now won't he?" He laughed.

Molly's eyes grew wide with fear. It was a trap set for Sherlock. She was the bait. He would come for her, she knew it. Jim knew it. And he knew how to play that knowledge to his advantage. His dark voice chimed again.

''Well, are you ready to have a little more fun?"

Molly breathed in slowly as she thought to herself,  
'Please be careful, Sherlock.'

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Lestrade and John found themselves sitting in a waiting room of an unknown business office. Sherlock had taken them with him, and instructed them to stay there as he barged into a mystery room. Moments later, they heard Sherlock's voice raise octaves higher as he shouted incoherencies at the innocent stranger.

Inside the office:

''What do you mean, 'you can't'? You are the government!" Sherlock bellowed at the man sitting at his desk, sipping his tea slowly. He looked at Sherlock, quirking one eyebrow slightly higher than the other.

''I am sorry. I realize how inconvenient Dr. Hooper's disappearance must be for you, but the only wink of information we have on Moriarty is that he is somewhere within the city, right under our noses.'' Mycroft answered, the diplomatic approach as always. Sherlock's eyes blazed at his brother's tactless answer.

''INCONVENIENT, MYCROFT? Her life is in the hands of that, that..ANIMAL, and you say it's inconvenient?" He shouted at his brother, with toxic levels of anger. Mycroft looked slightly apalled by his little brother's reaction. Had he really not noticed until now? Mycroft felt he was losing his touch as he observed his brother again, this time more thoroughly.

'Wrinkled shirt. Hair amess, curls in a manic order. Eyes written with red lines and darker than normal circles underneath. Facial stubble, hasn't shaved for a couple of days. Nor slept, bathed, or eaten.' Mycroft realized it then.

''You care for the young lady.'' He stated. Sherlock twisted around abruptly to meet his brother's sympathetic eyes. His own gaze softened a little.

''Yes.'' He said, staring out the window, unwilling to match Mycroft's gaze. He strode over to the window, hands clasped behind his back.

''She's going to die, Mycroft. He's going to kill her, and it's all my fault. She doesn't even know...'' he stopped himself, unable to finish his sentence. He felt Mycroft's hand on his shoulder a moment later.

''You will find her, Sherlock. You must. Put an end to Moriarty. For all of us.''

Sherlock turned and exited the room, leaving a concerned Mycroft to stand staring after him.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

Slightly shorter chapter this time, but this is a really good stopping point for now. Lol. I know, I'm cruel. Anyway, a starving writer's got to take a break to eat, too. Hope you enjoy lovelies! Spread the word, review some more! They keep me going. Thanks for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

Thanks for the reviews from:  
Pen2paper87 And Elwyn Robinson

Just your semi-chapterly review: I don't own Sherlock, Molly, John, blah blah blah and so on. Sigh, how I wish. Lol. Anyway: what say you to another chapter? Yea, I thought so. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter ten:

Today

"Such a pity, your skin was so...flawless. I really did enjoy our time together. Sorry it didn't work out, though, you were the one who broke it off, so I suppose there's nothing to be sorry for." He said, in a slightly sing-song pitch.

''Tell Sherlock, I told you so.''

Molly suddenly felt the ropes cut from around her as she quickly fell to the hard floor underneath her. She heard Moriarty's footsteps walking away from her, followed by the sound of a large metal door opening, then creakin shut. He had left her for dead. She would die here, not even knowing where here was. Molly's hands found around the concrete as she crawled desparately toward the sound from where the door was. She eventually found a wall, and pulled herself up. She followed the wall until she felt cold metal underneath her fingers. She pushed open the door and was immediately flooded with light.

Molly blindly staggered out into the cold and windy rain. Her covering was soaked, sticking to her body and her wounds. Molly cried out from the cold pain. Her vision was blurry as she made her way further from the buliding, in search of anything familiar. Her body limply carried her for an unknown amount of time. She looked down as her feet felt something soft. Grass. Molly collapsed onto it, unable to move any more. She gently rubbed around her wrists, trying to relieve the pain of her rope burns. She rolled onto her back, too cold and numb to feel the blades of wet grass stick sharply into her back. Someone would find her now. They had to. She had to warn him. She closed her eyes. One word on her mind.

'Sherlock.'

OoOoOoOoOoOo

Sherlock looked at the small table he had set his many ''gifts'' on. Her lipstick. Her dress. The note it had come with. Her badge from St. Bart's. Finally, the one that had just come to the door. A bright red gift-wrapped box. It mirrored the one that Molly had given him for Christmas. Her gift to him had been a beautiful hardbound copy of ''A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court.'' This gift though, was different. It had felt lighter, not a book then. Sherlock could hear its contents move around as he shook it gently. He ripped off the paper and peeled off the top of the box. The box contained a small metal lighter. Sherlock picked it up from the box, and twirled it through his fingers. He caught sight of the inscription on the back of the lighter.

'With love. xxx '

Sherlock returned his gaze to the box, seeing another note. His slender fingers wrapped around the paper's edge as he flipped it over. Instead of a dark black writing, this was a bright shade of blood red. The words reflected in Sherlock's eyes, written carefucarefully in cursive lettering.

'It's getting cold. Thought you could use some help.'

Sherlock rubbed over the top of the letters, and it smudged, staining his thumb. He looked down at the lighter again to see the same color smudged on a corner of it. Her blood. His eyes lit up in anger as he stood and walked to the kitchen where his microscope sat.

A few hours later, John had returned with a small bag of groceries. He spotted Sherlock obsessively hovering over the microscope, mumbling things to himself. John had just sat down the bag when his phone rang. He plucked it from his pocket and looked at the screen.

''It's Lestrade.'' He said, more to himself than to Sherlock. He answered it.  
''Hello?" Sherlock's ear unconsciously perked up as it listened for details. The only other thing it heard was the word ''okay.'' Sherlock's mind had released back to his microscope, not hearing John's statement.

''Sherlock.'' He said.

''I'm a little tied up at the moment, John.'' He snapped. Why could no one else take this as seriously as he was? He scoffed.

''SHERLOCK! That was Lestrade..'' John started in again.

''Yes with obviously nothing new since your conversation lasted all of twelve seconds.'' He said back angrily, never looking up to see John's ghostly white face. He didn't even look up as he was wrenched to attention as he heard John say,

''They found her.''

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

At St. Bart's

Mary Morstan had been the nurse on call in emergency that day. It hadn't been a really an eventful morning. She was behind the desk at the nurse's station when she heard the ambulance pull up. She quickly jumped to her feet and met them at the door.

''What've you got for me?" She asked immediately grabbing the bag of fluids from one of the men.

''Someone phoned and said this girl was in the middle of their front yard, just passed out. Poor girl doesn't even have any identification.'' The man responded as they wheeled the gurney down the hall. She looked down at the girl to take her vitals, when she almost tripped in the hallway. She recognized the strawberry locks that were matted to the woman's ashen face.

''I know her.'' Mary came back. ''Her name is Molly Hooper.'' They continued to wheel the cart down the hallway into the emergency treatment center. Mary had shouted over her shoulder to another nearby nurse.

''Call Sherlock Holmes!"

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Well, at least they found her, right? I know, that doesn't mean a whole lot. Lol. I'm so cruel. Hope you like the chapter. Read and review lovelies! Duty calls, sigh.


	11. Chapter 11

Thank you for the review from AnastasiaBeaverhausen01. And the continued reviews from coloradoandcolorado1. Sorry it took so long. Work sucks my life sometimes. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Eleven:

Greg Lestrade sat at his desk sifting through case files involving Moriarty. He had dedicated the past few days to digging up evidence from the basement archives that may prove helpful. Sally had lightly knocked on the door before opening it.

''Sir, you've got a phone call. Someone at Bart's.'' She said before turning around, closing the door behind her. Lestrade picked up the phone and pressed the button next to a blinking light.

''Hello, this is Detective Inspector Lestrade.'' He said.

''Hi, yes. My name is Leah. I was told to get in touch with a Sherlock Holmes, and some of the other nurses said I would have more luck phoning you instead.'' She sounded unsure of herself.

''Well, what can I do for you? Has Sherlock been invading parts of the hospital without clearance again?" He almost chuckled. It wasn't the first time he'd received a call about Sherlock's lack of respect for protocol. He listened to the young nurse again as she rummaged through her paperwork.

''No, actually. We have, well, that is to say... my superior told me to phone him about a patient. Just arrived, it seems fairly urgent, sir.'' She said, stumbling over her words.

''I'm sorry. Who did you say this patient was? We don't really handle his personal affairs.'' He said. Obviously this girl had received some mixed advice and was trying to keep her job.

''Oh, right. Well, this lady's name...where did I put that note, ah here it is. It's a Molly...Harper? Hopper? Darn this had writing!" She scoffed, trying to make out the writer's penmanship. Greg sat up in his chair.

''You mean Molly Hooper?" He asked.

''Yea! That's it! Hooper! They just brought her in...''

The line went dead as he slammed the phone down. He immediately picked it back up and dialed John's number. It rang twice and John answered.

''Hello?"

''John, it's me, Greg. Look, you and Sherlock have got to get to Bart's right away. It's Molly. She's there.'' He said, only taking a breath after finishing the thought. It took John a moment to respond.

''Okay.''

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Sherlock and John sat in the back of a black taxi, John's eyes never wavering from Sherlock. Sherlock's eyes, however, danced frantically back and forth, never stopping to gaze at something for more than a second. The traffic had come to an abrupt halt, and the cabbie began shouting profanities before turning back to the two.

''Seems we've got a bit of a jam. Could be awhile. Sorry boys.'' He said. Sherlock immediately thrust the fare into his face before climbing out of the cab and running down the street, John barely able to keep up with him. It was a matter of minutes before they arrived at the front entrance to St. Bart's. They walked in and strode straight to the nurse's station. Sherlock saw a young blonde woman sitting behind the desk. She was obviously shaken emotionally. 'Red puffy eyes, used tissue in her hand. Running mascara. Bright cheeks.'

''You're Molly's friend.'' He said with a clipped tone. She looked up, immediately recognizing him from the papers and various media she was exposed to daily.

''You must be Mr. Holmes. Look, I'm not sure what's happened to her. She just stopped showing up to work and next thing I now they're rolling her in here on a stretcher. She's banged up badly.'' She sobbed, trying to regain composure. Sherlock wasted no time before asking.

''Where is she now?" His voice was softer, but only slightly. Mary pointed down the hall to one of the wings of the center.

''She's all the way at the end there, sixth door to your right. Room 122.'' Mary followed them to the door and quickly scanned her badge, allowing the automatic door to release its latch and let them in. John turned and gave Mary a sympathetic smile as he nodded his head to thank her. Sherlock was already halfway down the hall. They reached her room, the door open just enough for light to stream in. Sherlock opened it quietly and his heart immediately plummeted to his stomach.

The large hospital bed held the frame of what appeared to be a child. Her reddish blonde hair lay gracefully around her face as she slept. Her body was stretched out, rolled onto one side. Sherlock moved slightly closer, noting the bandages around her wrists and the patch of gauze on her left forearm. The monitors attached to her bleeped every so often, recording her body's vitals. An I.V. needle was inserted into the top of her hand, slowly dripping fluids into her body. John looked sorrowfully at her condition as Sherlock just stared at her serene face. Just then a nurse came in behind them.

''Oh, well looks like she's got company already.'' She said. She noted the two rather handsome men standing next to her before adding, ''lucky little lady.'' John spoke up quietly.

''What is her status? I'm a doctor.'' He said, knowing it would grant him more information. The nurse picked up the chart at the end of Molly's bed.

''She came in in pretty bad shape. Some scrapes on her hands and knees. Fairly nasty burn on her arm there, along with what looked like rope marks on her wrists and ankles. The worst is her back. Poor darling. We can't even patch it up, it's so bad.'' She stated, shaking her head with pity. She looked over at Sherlock, noting his stare at Molly.

''I wouldn't recommend looking at her back, sweetie. It nearly made me cry, and I don't even know the girl. I'm just down the hall if you boys need anything.'' She said before leaving the room. John looked over at Sherlock, who was now slowly making his way around the bed. He had reached the other side before looking at Molly's back. Her hospital gown lay open and draped around her shoulders, giving him perfect access to the wound. He quickly turned and footed out of the room, blowing past John. John rounded the corner of Molly's bed and saw what Sherlock had just seen. He then ran out of the room, looking for where Sherlock had gone. He briskly walked past the men's room when he heard the distinct sound of someone wretching. The toilet flushed and a moment later the sink turned on. John waited, and was moments after staring Sherlock down, concern in his eyes. Sherlock looked up, meeting John's gaze.

The two said nothing as they walked back to Molly's room. John had positioned himself in the chair at the foot of Molly's bed. Sherlock had placed himself on the side of Molly that showed her back. He stared at it, every little hill and valley of her melted flesh. He then looked at it as a whole. It spread from her shoulder blades down to the dip just above the small of her back, creating the perfect picture of a heart.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

I know, that sucks for Molly :( Anyway, read and review please. Thanks for the words of encouragement, it makes me happy. Enjoy lovelies!


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve:

The next day

Sherlock had stayed in Molly's room all evening. He moved around when he felt uncomfortable, but never left her out of his sight. John had left hours before, saying that he couldn't go much longer without proper sleep. Sherlock had missed this conversation apparently. His eyes hadn't strayed from Molly's face for a few hours, when physical need set in. He fell asleep, gently slouched over in the chair across from her sleeping form. The next sound that woke him nearly made him fall from his chair.

''Sher..'' it tried. It was a small squeak, barely audible to his own ear. He had been looking for it though. Sherlock's eyes flew open as he looked at Molly. Her eyes were still closed, dreaming. Her hand had clasped tightly around the blanket that covered her. Sherlock heard the monitor beeps pick up in pace, her pulse climbing. She was having a nightmare. Sherlock decided to intervene.

''Molly. Wake up.'' He said lowly into her exposed ear. His hand gently touched her cheek. The back of his fingers slid across her smooth skin, caressing her. Her groggy eyes flew open as she looked around startled. Sherlock's hand slid carefully but quickly down to her unused hand. He squeezed it tightly, rubbing his thumb across the top. Her body unconsciously recognized his touch, and she relaxed. He watched her closely. Her eyes eventually settled on his pale face.

''Sher...lock?" Her soft voice asked. It sounded like a symphony to his ears. He scooted his chair closer to her bed.

''I am here, Molly.'' He responded. He felt so...unsure. Fear had managed to burrow deep into his chest sometime in the last week. He had felt a crazy desire to hold her and lay loving kisses on her face. He had felt a need to wrap her in his long arms and keep her close where he knew she'd be safe. This was all foreign to him. One thing was certain to him: he WOULD find Moriarty, and he WOULD kill him. He was brought out of his thought as he felt a small squeeze around his fingers. He looked at his hand, then followed Molly's arm up to her face. She was staring back at him, confusion displayed on her face.

''What happened?" She asked. She had clearly blocked out the horrific events, or was just under the influence of too much morphine. Either way, she had questions. Questions that Sherlock wasn't sure he wanted to provide answers to. His eyes looked sad.

''Molly, you were...taken.'' he began, a small crack in his voice. A question came to his mind. How much had she forgotten? He had to know.  
''What is the last thing you remember?" He asked.

'' I remember getting ready for your return party. I...ripped my dress?.'' She tried to muddle through the details her brain would allow, in attempts to create a plausible story line.

''Alright, that's alright.'' Sherlock responded. Internally, his mind breathed a sigh of relief. 'She hasn't forgotten, then. She hasn't forgotten it.'

Sherlock was about to say something else, when a nurse walked through the door. Sherlock quickly slid his hand from Molly's and strode across the room to look out the window.

''Well, look who's awake finally!'' She said cheerfully. Her hands carried a small stack of sheets. ''We just need to get your linens changed, and then I'll see if I can't muster up the doctor to come fill you in on your progress.'' She began stripping the blankets from around Molly's body. Molly shivered with the sudden temperature change. Sherlock still stared through the window, until the nurse chimed in his direction.

''Would you be a lamb, dear, and help her stand while I change this bottom sheet? Now that she's up, I'm sure she doesn't want a whole lot of people touchin' her.'' She smiled. Sherlock gave a quick grin and walked to the side of the bed Molly's legs had dangled. He took hold of her hands as she carefully planted her feet on the cold floor. The nurse worked quickly around the bed, flinging the sheet off the bed's corners. Upon its return, an end of the sheet snapped from midair, grazing Molly's exposed back. She shouted in pain, her face burying into Sherlock's chest as she cried. His hands, not knowing where to go, delicately traced little patterns on her shoulders.

''Ya know, this boy hasn't left your side since you got in here, missy.'' The nurse said after a moment. Molly slowly looked up at Sherlock, who was looking away, a slight tint of blushing creeping onto his face. She smiled slightly, burrowing her face into his chest again. She breathed in and out, smelling his spice scented cologne. A moment after, the nurse had finished and had helped Molly back into bed. She left the room, saying something about the doctor.

Molly had fallen back to sleep, while Sherlock paced the room. He was working at the puzzle in his head, piecing together all the clues Moriarty had given him. He didn't hear anything. Not the doctor who had come to check on Molly. Not the nurses who knew Molly, coming to give her flowers. Not even John, who had managed to come and stay for awhile before leaving again to have lunch with a nurse. He did, however, hear the tell tale footsteps of fancy hand crafted leather shoes. He turned, seeing the figure in the doorway of Molly's room.

''Hello Mycroft.'' Sherlock said, in his harsh clipped tone. Mycroft looked at his brother and rolled his eyes?

''Why must you greet me with such disdain, brother?" Mycroft puffed. He stepped toward Sherlock, his eyes glacing at Molly only briefly. He then did a double take as he saw her large wound that invade her back. His eyes widened as he looked back at Sherlock.

''My word.'' He whispered. ''So this is personal.''

''It would seem so, yes.'' Sherlock's reply came quietly, his eyes returning to look out the window. The rest of their conversation was almost wordless, each exchanging glances to mean different thoughts. Mycroft nodded his head and had turned to leave. At the doorway, he turned again, before finally saying,

''Hatred is a very driving force, Sherlock, only outmatched by love. Please be cautious.''

John met Mycroft in the hall on his return to the room.

''Ah, hello John. I see you had a terrific lunch with Miss Morstsan.'' Mycroft stated. John looked back down the hall, then at Mycroft.

''How did you- oh forget it. Come to see Sherlock have you?" Mycroft nodded his head, before letting John continue. ''And you saw Molly?" Another nod.

''It's much worse than I imagined. John, you must look after him. He is in uncharted territory. Moriarty has the one-up on him this time.'' Mycroft said, a hint of genuine feeling behind his voice. John nodded back at Mycroft, understanding the situation. Mycroft waltzed past him, turning his head over a shoulder as he called back,

''Do make sure he bathes himself. And try to make him eat something.''

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Well, what do my lovelies think? I had so many directions I wanted to take this chapter...but this works best with what I have in store. Hope you liked it. Read and review! And Watch PBS tonight! Sherlock season 2 USA premieres! Laters lovelies! 


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen:

_Molly struggled against ropes that bound her arms and legs. Her whole body felt as though it was on fire. She looked around, searching for an escape. That's when she saw him. His eyes were glowing with the reflection of her burning skin. He laughed as he watched her flesh turn black._

"_Remember, dear Molly. Remember my little message for Sherlock." He spoke with a low voice. _

"_I told you so."_

Molly's eyes flew open as she sprang up in her bed. Her whole body shook with fear. She was quickly embraced in a careful hug. She looked up, expecting to see Sherlock, but instead her eyes saw a mess of short, sandy blonde hair. She registered John's voice as he spoke to her.

"Sshh, sshh, it's alright Molly. It was just a dream." He cooed sweetly as he rubbed her arms. She was breathing shallowly, entering into hyperventilation. When she finally managed to calm herself, she kept uttering seemingly random words. She choked them out between breaths and sobs.

"Trick. Sherlock. Trick."

John looked at her, confused. He went to press the nurse's call button on the side of the bed when her hand grasped around his wrist firmly. She shook her head violently and tried to calm herself to get her message across to John.

"John. Sherlock...it's a..trick. He can't. Can't go. Tell him. Don't go." She gasped in between words, still struggling for air. John looked at her with widened eyes.

"Molly, do you remember something? About what happened? What do you remember?" He asked urgently. She nodded her head and began to cry into his shoulder. He whipped his phone out behind her back and texted Sherlock, one handed.

'Get back here now. She needs you.'

-John-

Moments later, his phone pinged with an alert. He clicked open the phone lock, and read it.

'Bit busy. What does she need?"

-SH-

'She says she remembers something. Kept saying it's a trick. For you to not go. It's a trick, Sherlock.'

-John-

No reply came. John put on his best brave face for Molly, assuring her that Sherlock had just gone to see Mycroft. He was lying of course. He knew where Sherlock had disappeared to in the previous hours. He worried for him.

'Please don't do anything stupid, Sherlock. Please come back to me. And Molly.'

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Oooh, where's Sherlock? Guess you'll have to wait to find out. Just a short transitional chapter really. Anywho, thanks for the continued support. It means a lot. Hope you enjoy. Have a good day lovelies!


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen:

* * *

A few hours earlier:

_Sherlock stood pondering in the web room. He looked at the wall, seeing the many photographs and artifacts that linked Him to Moriarty. Moriarty to Molly. Molly back to him. He saw the memory of the first time he had met "Jim from IT". He had pointed out his sexual orientation to Molly. It had been cruel. Why had he been cruel about it. Surely he hadn't meant it. But he did, in a way. He hadn't wanted to hurt HER, but wanted her opinion of this Jim to lessen, essentially ridding her of the inevitable problem. He had picked up on the fact that Jim was in fact, hitting on him. It had indeed been obvious to him. Sherlock then looked at another thing on the wall. _

_The tube of lipstick. It reminded him of the first time he had seen her wear the shade. It was in the morgue. He had of course commented on it. Apparently he had been cruel once again, when she removed the lipstick. He had called her mouth small. Speaking from the later knowledge of experience, he could definitely say it was small in the least. The shade of ruby red had also brought up the memory of Christmas. The night he discovered her feelings for him. Sherlock winced to himself. Again, why was he always so cruel to Molly? She had nothing but pure adoration for him, and he had constantly pushed her to one side, to watch from the sidelines. He shook his head and turned his attentions to connections between Moriarty and himself._

_Many connections. Focus on the important moments. He had tied up his best friend with Semtex and had trained rifles on him. That had been at the pool where Carl Powers had died. He had accused Sherlock of having a heart. Even a semblance of one._

* * *

Sherlock and John sat in Molly's room. John looked over at Sherlock, who sat with a very miffed look on his face. His hands steeped under his chin. Clearly ignoring whatever was not what he deemed important. John cleared his throat several times before finally catching Sherlock's attention.

"What is it?" Came the clipped response. John simply rolled his eyes.

"You know what, Sherlock. What are we going to do about, Moriarty?" He sighed frustratedly. "You know he did this to her to get to you." He continued. Sherlock's head snapped over to John.

"Once again stating the blatantly obvious, John. I KNOW this. But the question is, why is he using her to get to me?" Sherlock looked genuinely puzzled by the matter at hand.

"Really? You're really asking- Sherlock, you...you CARE ABOUT HER!" John responded, a little louder than he'd intended. He looked to Molly, who rustled slightly in her sleep, before mumbling a few words under her tired breath. John readjusted his volume.

"Caring is not an advantage, John." Sherlock stated. John had had enough. He stood up, marched over to where Sherlock was seated, and crouched down to his ear level. His voice was just above a whisper, but it carried all the force of a battle cry.

"So, you mean to tell me that you trusted Molly with the most important secret of your life. You relied on her to help you carry out the plan to save your life. When you returned, you not only thanked her, but I walked in to find you practically bending her backwards over a metal slab snogging the daylights out of her. You've not slept in over a week, and you've not left this room in five days! If you don't care, then why in the BLOODY HELL are you here?" He finished, his eyes following Sherlock's to Molly's sleeping face. It was a few minutes before Sherlock responded.

"John, I never said I didn't care. I merely said it wasn't an advantage. If you'll notice, my caring for her has followed suit of my caring for anyone. I care for Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and you. I had to fake my own death to ensure your safety. And Moriarty didn't even touch you." John looked into his friend's eyes, seeing them filled with worry. Sadness. Sherlock continued.

"What will I have to do to protect her, John? I think it's safe to say at this point, that I will most likely have to give up my life for Molly's safety. What if that's not enough? What good will sacrificing myself do if I cannot then be here to protect her from whatever dangers lie past that sacrifice?" Then Sherlock did something strangely...human. His body slouched forward in his chair, his hands propped on his knees as he slumped his head into them. He sighed deeply. Tiredly. He had a passing thought fly through his head.

'Sentiment.'

That's when it clicked. His head snapped up suddenly, and he quickly stood to his feet. John looked up to him, clearly confused. Sherlock strode across the room, retrieving his coat and scarf, before looking at Molly and then to John.

"Look after her for me, while I'm gone." He said, back in his usual, monotone voice. John had stood to go after him, and then looked at Molly. He sighed and sat in the chair at the side of her bed. He pulled out his phone and sent Sherlock a simple text.

'Where are you going?'

-John-

'Just popping out. Be back shortly.'

-SH-

Sherlock hailed a cab once outside of the white walls of St. Bart's. He whipped out his phone again, and sent another text. To a different contact.

'The pool. One Hour.'

-SH-

He sat in the cab, twirling his phone in his hand, until it lit up. He stopped, and looked at the response.

'Can't wait, love.'

-M-

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Woohoohoo. Can I just say that this chapter had even me super on edge...it just kinda played out in my head and my fingers did the following. Lol. Hope you all liked it. It was a lot of fun writing this one.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen:

* * *

Sherlock arrived at the pool exactly one hour after sending his text to Moriarty. He walked through the main entrance doors and into the large pool room. It echoed hollowly. The water reflected the light and bounced its wavy pattern onto the walls and ceiling. Sherlock looked around, seeing no sign of Jim. He called out to him.

''I think we need to have a little chat, Jim.'' He said sarcastically. Soon, from a corner behind him, Moriarty slithered out into sight. His face wore a sinister smirk. He casually stepped closer to Sherlock.

''Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock. We really must choose better meeting locations. The pool again? Really, now doesn't it seem a bit...oh I don't know... dull?" He said. He grinned, looking at Sherlock with flirtatious eyes. Sherlock grinned slightly.

''Oh I don't know. Coffee would seem so, domestic.'' Jim laughed loudly at the statement.

''Look, have you come to play, or are we just going to keep spouting out ideas for things to do?" Moriarty continued. Sherlock glared at him.

''Oh, I'm ready to play.'' Came his response. Jim grinned again.

''Well, have you figured out my little puzzle for you?"

''I have indeed.''

''See, now I just would love to believe you, but it's taken you a week to decide to play. Which isn't what I had in mind for a timeline. Not at all, Sherlock.'' Jim said, adding lilts in his voice every now and again. Sherlock had tilted his head slightly before he spoke.

''I'm sorry. I figured you wanted me to stay by Molly's side. Was that not your intent?" He said, questioningly. Moriarty started to shake his head, pouting much like a small child.

''No, nonononono! You don't get it at all, do you?'' He whined.

''Well then, by all means, do explain.'' Sherlock said, motioning for him to continue. Jim took another step closer to Sherlock.

''It's about revenge. And passion. And paying. Attention.'' He gritted through his teeth. ''I used that little mouse to get to you once. And you didn't seem to catch on then. And THEN she just HAD to ruin our fun by no longer agreeing to see me. So, I had to plan bigger. The fall was to get you to drop the fancy hero act, Sherlock. Nobody likes a suicidal hero. I thought that once your little 'ego' was out of the way, we could have fun playing our little games. But then it occurred to me...I STILL had to compete for your attention. You didn't even realize it until you came back to life, as it were.'' Sherlock's eyes flickered with utter confusion.

''You know, I wasn't joking when I said I'd burn the heart out of you. You just didn't know that I knew who your heart was.'' The words had echoed in Sherlock's ears from that night at the pool those months ago. A set of different words echoed shortly after. Words that he had spoken.

''Funny thing...fire. It shows us what our priorities are. Who would have thought? Sherlock Holmes's feelings lie in the hands of some delicate... normal girl.'' He said the word like it had left a bad taste in his mouth. He looked up at Sherlock, his eyes gleaming wickedly. He let out a small chuckle.

''I don't like sharing my toys, Sherlock. Least of all with some girl. Speaking of which, did she give you your message?" Sherlock looked away for a second, then back to Jim.

''No, must have slipped her mind. Then again, she has been awfully tied up. You know how recovery can go.'' He said snidely. Jim's grin grew wider.

''Oh yes, I did so love seeing her tied up. Foxy little minx. I bet that'd be something for you two to try in the future.'' He said with a devilish wink. Sherlock's blood boiled, and he soon pulled out his gun from his back pocket.

''Do tell me, then, what is this message I was supposed to receive?" Sherlock inquired, his hands firmly wrapped around the end of the gun. Jim stepped even closer, until his left shoulder was flush against Sherlock's.

''I told you so.''

''No, there's something bigger at play here.'' Sherlock continued after a minute. ''You aren't the type for simple revenge schemes and ploys for attention. This is about leveling the playing field. Ah. That IS what this is.'' Sherlock declared with a sudden epiphone. Jim half grinned as he looked to Sherlock.

''I never could get anything past you.''

''So you had feelings for her, too. And seeing how you are me, I am you, it wasn't a fair fight unless I felt the same heartache you had felt by being rejected.'' He added.

''Only that little HARLOT could NEVER reject you, could she? SOOOO...I had to improvise a little.'' He screamed, before turning his yell into a singy voice. He had taken a small step away from Sherlock, which was enough space for Sherlock to wedge the gun between Moriarty and himself. Jim laughed hysterically.

''Oh, oh Sherlock. You never cease to amuse me. You're not going to kill me. Remember? We NEED each other. You're the Tom to my Jerry. I am Sylvester to your Tweety. You CAN'T kill me.'' He laughed. Just then, a loud pop exploded and echoed in the room. Sherlock had looked down at the gun, confused at how he hadn't felt himself pull the trigger. He looked back to Moriarty's face, which was half missing, and exposed bits of skull and brain on the side. Sherlock immediately looked to the left of where they stood, and saw Lestrade, still holding the gun in its aimed position. He looked over to Sherlock, who stood stunned as Jim Moriarty's body fell to the ground in front of him. He turned to face Greg, who was walking up to him quickly.

''John phoned and said you could use some help. Seems I got here just in. time." He said, smiling at Sherlock. Sherlock just grinned, before sighing, partly in relief, partly due to the onset of exhaustion. He swayed slightly, before collapsing to the floor, Lestrade lunging to catch him.

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Finally! Well, Moriarty is out of the way...but what of Sherlock? And what of Molly? Anyway, sorry it took so long. Evening shift at work. Hope you lovelies like it!


	16. Chapter 16

Thanks to Juze, for like 12 reviews in a row. Lol. Any who, hope you like this chapter. A bit anti-climactic and a tad fluffy...but I needed a break from crazy psycho chase down mode. also, fixed the part with the confusion of i love you's. lol. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Sixteen:

Sherlock was breathing in and out. He felt surrounded by warmth. He inhaled again deeply. He could smell fresh strawberries. Molly. His face felt something smooth drag across it. He arched into the feeling like a cat wanting its ears scratched. He sighed as he heard sweet whispers.

'Sherlock? Can you hear me?' It was Molly's voice, barely above a whisper. It cooed lightly in his ear, he could almost feel the breath tickling the inside if it. He subconsciously smiled at the sound.

'Sherlock, thank you.' It called again. It was so textbook Molly. He reached up his hand to the softness against his cheek. He wrapped his hand around the long, slender fingers he found there. He breathed in the delicious aroma of strawberries again. And then...

His eyes snapped open. He carefully looked around. He was lying on the couch in 221B. He went to sit up, but was weighed down by something. 'Not terribly heavy, but not merely a blanket.' He readjusted to look down at what had been covering him. His eyes were met with a tangled forest of strawberry blonde hair. He slowly inhaled, his nose picked up the familiar scent. 'Strawberry.' He tilted his head a bit to the side to see Molly's sleeping face gently smashed against his shoulder. Her hand wrapped around and was loosely draped on his other shoulder, near his neck. Sherlock felt her legs curled up near his stomach. She had curled up into a ball on his chest. He smiled into her hair. Sherlock chuckled lowly, hearing Molly mumble in her sleep.

''Sherlock.'' She uttered sweetly. He dipped his head down and kissed her could feel her breath tickle the side of his face, and he felt her steady heartbeat thumping against his chest softly. He tried to adjust himself quietly, but he had managed to forget Molly's back. His hand lightly grazed it, sending her eyes flying wide open from the sudden pain. She sat up straight, unaware that she was straddling his chest with her fingers pressed in on his skin. She felt his quickened heart beating under hand as she looked at him. His eyes flooded with worry as he also sat up.

''Molly, are you alright? I didn't mean to...I mean I forgot about...'' he finally stopped talking and settled for a sigh. She closed her eyes, trying to push down the pain. She nodded her head lightly trying to be convincing. Sherlock knew different, but pretended to go along with the charade.

''They released you. How long have I been asleep?" He then asked. He looked around the room for any sign of time or date. Molly looked down at the small silver watch she had around her wrist.

''Hm, well, I've been here since yesterday, and you were asleep then. John said you had slept all the day before as well. So, two days?" She stated. She looked at his eyes, the dark circles underneath them were far more dominant than the last time she'd seen him. She smiled sweetly at him and gently pushed at his chest, ordering him to lie back. He slowly did and after he was positioned she reclaimed her position of nuzzling her head into the crook of his neck.

''I...I hope this is alright. With you, I mean. I just wanted to make sure you were...real.'' Sherlock felt her voice vibrating nervously throughout his chest. He simply nodded in response. Of course it was alright. Having her within his grasp meant she was safe. He had kept his promise. He closed his eyes and listened to her breathe in and out, clearly falling back to sleep. After a few moments, he decided it would be best for her to have ample room, so as to prevent further accidents regarding her wounds.

He wrapped his arms gingerly around her waist, being careful to miss the large burn on her back. Once sitting upright, he wrapped her arm lazily around his neck and hooked one arm underneath the bend of her knees. Sherlock lifted Molly with him as he stood. He carried her to his bedroom, and gently laid her on his bed. He brushed a strand of red hair from in front of her eyes, before turning around and closing the door behind him. As he closed the door, he heard her mumble again.

''I love you.'' The words passed seemlessly from her lips. He grinned to himself before turning off the light.

He returned to the living room, and pulled John's laptop onto his legs. He opened the screen, and read the date and time. 'Two days? I've slept for two days straight?' Just then, John walked through the door. He stopped, looking at Sherlock, before continuing further into the room.

''Well, good morning sleeping beauty.'' He said, a bit too cheerfully. Sherlock rolled his eyes and returned his gaze to the glowing screen.

''Hey, we received company while you were out cold. So be quiet when you go into your room.'' John said warningly, like a mother hen.

''I know, John.'' Sherlock replied rather snippily. John blinked at him with amazement.

You-you know? And how, pray tell, do you know?" He asked, not believing his drowsy looking friend.

''Because'', he started, looking up rather annoyed, ''I woke up to her curled up on my lap like a kitten.'' He stopped, stunned at his own words. John stifled a short chuckle, clearly amused by a flustered Sherlock.

''Look, I have patients to see tomorrow, so you are going to have to make sure she takes her medication and change her bandages...and this.'' He tossed Sherlock a tube of ointment. Sherlock looked at it curiously, before turning back to John, wordlessly demanding he explain.

''That'', he pointed, ''is for the particularly bad one on her back. Make sure it's spread evenly and that it doesn't come into contact with any other materials. It will stain them permanently. See?" He rattled on, before holding up one of his jumpers. The sleeve had turned a dark brown color.

Sherlock nodded in frustration before retorting, ''I think I can remember a few simple instructions regarding ointment application.'' John gave him a look. The stern look of 'I mean it, Sherlock.' Sherlock sighed.

''I will not forget. Thank you for giving me my instructions.'' He stretched out on the couch once again, feeling suddenly very sleepy. John fussed in the kitchen a bit longer, making a sandwich and tea for himself. He then passed Sherlock on the couch, before turning. He thought his friend asleep, and thus made the comment,

''She must be stronger than she's let on, carrying your heart around.'' He smiled and turned to go down the hall and up the stairs to his room. Sherlock peeked an eye open, before staring at the hallway, mentally wandering to the room Molly was currently occupying.

''Yes, she certainly is.'' He thought out loud.

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Aws all around! Lol, it may be a bit out of character for Sherlock, but remember, he's just learning this stuff. Any who, hope you like it. Goodnight lovelies!


	17. Chapter 17

Thanks for the continued revies from people. Also, thanks to T.N. Weston, who brought to light a fairly confusing line in the story, which i prompty was able to fix. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Seventeen:

Molly was lying on her stomach, simply relaxed by the warm air and the pain medication John had practically force fed her almost three hours ago. He had muttered something about not trusting Sherlock to remember. He was out the door shortly after, rushing to catch the tube to work. Molly had dozed back to sleep. Her left arm dangled off the side of the large, plush bed. Her right arm gently tucked up under her head, fingers tangled throughout her auburn hair. She had just started to fall into a deeper sleep when she felt a cool sensation across her back. She felt a light pressure dragging across her shoulder blades, more comforting than irritating to her pain. It continued its path along her burns, being careful not to apply too much pressure. The cooling sensation had soaked into her skin, and she shivered slightly. The pressure suddenly stopped and removed itself. Molly let out a small whimper of sadness. She was pouting, having had her comfort taken away. She then heard a low, quiet chuckle. Her eyes slowly popped open, squinting at the sunlight invading the room through the curtains. She turned her eyes, seeing Sherlock with one hand holding a tube of ointment, his other with traces of the salve surrounding his fingers, and a cute grin adorning his face.

''I thought it best to try this while you were still relaxed. Wouldn't want you being a nervous wreck, would we?" He said in a hushed voice. That's when it occurred to Molly, her shirt had been carefully moved up by her neck. She blushed furiously, catching sight of Sherlock as he rolled his eyes. He proceeded to squeeze out another dollop of ointment onto his hands.

''This may be cold, tell me if it's too much pain.'' He said before lightly grazing the next spot on her back. He picked up where he left off, lightly rubbing her burns and applying more lotion. He came to a fairly deep part of the burn, and tenderly dabbed the medicine onto the dark spot. Molly hissed sharply, feeling the burn through her muscles. Sherlock bent down and lightly blew on this spot. Molly breathed in slowly, and then just as slowly exhaled. Her heart pounded in her chest as she felt his breath grace her sore skin. She closed her eyes, and released a tiny moan from her lips.

His ears perked to full attention at the sound. Sherlock had not expected to hear a noise like that passing from Molly's lips. He also hadn't expected that hearing it would send his stomach taking wing and flying all throughout his insides. He pressed lightly on the cap to the ointment, closing it. Sherlock then wiped his hands on an old wash cloth, removing the excess salve. He was about to leave Molly to relax and sleep, when he heard her small, tired voice.

''Sherlock?'' He looked down at her small frame, seeing her eyes closed.

''Yes, Molly?'' His voice said, surprising him when it came out in broken segments.

''Will you, will you please stay with me?" Her voice sounded, insecure of the response she would get. Seconds later, however, she felt a small nudge on the side of her head. She lifted up, and Sherlock quickly slid underneath the gap, allowing her head to slowly rest on his chest. He propped his shoulders and head up against the headboard, creating a comfortable angle for both Molly and himself. She smiled into his shirt, hearing his breathing and feeling his heart thus against her ear.

''I love you, Sherlock.'' She whispereda few minutes later, almost praying he wouldn't hear it. He, being Sherlock, did. His brow creased, thinking of how to best respond without hurting Molly.

''Love is...love is merely chemical reactions in the body. Pheromones, adrenaline, hormones..all caused by triggers that our bodies find...interesting.'' he stumbled over his words, unable to stop his harshly honest tongue. He had expected tears. Disappointment. The response he got was, a laugh. He looked down as Molly propped her head up to look at him.

''Sherlock, I understand your views on the whole sentimentality of love and affection. Would it be easier if I explained my feelings for you...scientifically?" She giggled. His mouth spread into a quick grin.

''Alright. Yes. Do try to explain it to me.'' He said, a mischevious challenging in his voice.

''When I see you, it causes my brain to go reeling. My mouth gets dry, and I feel like my spine is melting into a puddle. Your voice is one of those triggers you mentioned. It practically gives me palpitations, that's how keen I find the sound of it. Your hands send shockwaves through my body, Sherlock. Even simple touches. The smell of your cologne. It all drives me insane. And let's not even MENTION the power your lips hold...'' she nervously chuckled. He could feel her heart pick up in pace by the thought of their kiss. Then, it clicked. He understood her perfectly.

''Molly...'' he began. She hummed in response, and he continued. ''All those things, all those triggers and physical reactions...I feel those for you too.'' He said rather anxiously. She pulled herself up to meet his gaze, their faces only inches apart. Her smile beamed.

''Sherlock Holmes, is that your way of saying you love me?" She practically gushed. His face took on a reddish hue of blush as he looked away. He slowly nodded his head. Molly reached for his face and delicately brought it back to face her.

''Thank you.'' She whispered before closing the small span between them. Her kiss was sweet. Almost like a light snow falling on his lips. Her hand stroked the side of his face, smoothing over his rigid cheekbone. He soon sat up, pulling her deeper into him by the smooth curves of her neck. Sherlock felt as though he could drink her in. Her back curved, and Molly bit through the pain it caused the ripples of her chapped skin. She soon moved her legs to straddle his lap, trying to drink him in as well.

Sherlock's hands danced back and forth from on her neck and shoulders, to entwining in her long hair. He found it more advantageous to feel around in the soft tendrils, as the reaction it stirred from Molly was clearly more pleasurable. He massaged her scalp with his long fingers, causing her to moan against his lips. Her hands also ventured to his hair. Molly's hands, in fact, roamed all over Sherlock. From his shoulders to his hair. From the back of his neck to his chest, all exploring his body like they were seeking treasure. He moved a hand to the small of her back that was free of any damaged skin, which caused Molly to arch against him. Sherlock moaned this time. Just as they began to lose themselves in the moment, John entered the room.

''Hey I just remembered I forgot to change your... HOOOLY BRIAN CHRIST!" They heard before hearing the door slam. Sherlock smiled against Molly as they broke apart.

''I should make sure he hasn't jumped out the window.'' Sherlock said before detangling himself from Molly's hold. She laughed as she watched him walk for the door. She listened to their conversation. John clearly very disturbed at seeing Sherlock engage in, well, anything intimate. Sherlock explaining the matters of consent and feelings. Sherlock's voice then argued to John something about him being perfectly capable of handling Molly's well being, shortly followed by the front door slamming shut, John's feet stomping down the stairs. Sherlock returned to the room moments later, his hands full of medical gauze rolls.

''It would seem the good doctor wants me to change your bandages.'' He said, falsely melodramatic. Molly giggled as she held out her arms. Sherlock started with her wrists, which were healing rather quickly. He then unrolled the wrap from her forearm. His eyes looked down as he gazed upon this burn for the first time. There, amongst her healing red and brown skin, were the distorted letters.

'I.O.U.'

Sherlock's face contorted to that of focus, pure anger, and a bit of worry. He felt Molly's eyes on him, equally frought with worry.

''Sherlock? Is everything alright?" She asked. He nodded his head, before returning focus to her arm. He quickly finished wrapping it with the roll of gauze and planted gentle kisses on her forearm and wrists. He stood and went for the door, turning to look at Molly, whose face was still filled with concern.

''I'll be back in a moment, just need to do some thinking.'' He said, as he managed a reassuring smile to relieve her a bit. Molly's face smoothed a bit, as she laid back down on the bed, her energy zapped from the sudden exertion. He closed the door behind him, before walking through the rest of 221B.

''One final battle.'' he said to himself, before walking through the door.

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''Oh no! Wait! I thought we were done with this!" You say. ''Oh no, not at all.'' Says I. Lol. Enjoy the chapter, my lovelies.


	18. Chapter 18

Thanks to ESwan for the review. I try to keep the characters in check...but sometimes OOCness just makes for more fun. Lol. Hopefully that made sense. Enjoy!

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Chapter Eighteen:

Sherlock pushed through the large gray door, and it creaked loudly upon closing behind him. He flicked the light on, and stared into the smirking face of Jim Moriarty.

''Ah, was wondering when you'd pop in.'' He said. Sherlock slowly stepped further into the room, and tilted his head with an intrigued eyebrow quirked.

''I got your other message. Was that really necessary?" He asked. Jim bobbed his head back in shock. He then twisted his head back and forth, popping his neck, before speaking again.

''Yes of course it was necessary, Sherlock! Don't you see? It means I've won.'' Sherlock's brow furrowed at Moriarty's words. Jim sighed heavily before continuing.

''As long as you care for the little miss, you'll have to endure those scars she carries. And as long as you see them, you will ALWAYS think of me. This place, your kingdom, I own it now. Free to walk about and infect your thoughts until you're shredding the walls.'' He giggled darkly. Sherlock's eyes widened slightly. He was right. As long as Molly wore the scars branded by Jim, he would always be brought back to this place.

''Ah yes, see? You know I've won. You have to admit, it was quite clever. Marking her with my 'special' signature.'' Jim smiled again.

''This place isn't technically real. You're dead, and the only one who has access to you, is me. You haven't won anything.'' Sherlock stated after a moment.

''Oh, but as long as YOU are alive, I will be too. Remember, dear, I am you. And I owe you a fall. A slow, torturous fall, into madness. Quite fun sounding, don't you agree?" Moriarty explained. His face held a small grin, amused at his own clever trick. Sherlock let his head fall slightly, looking to the floor. Suddenly, down the hall, Sherlock's ears picked up on a sound.

''Sherlock?" It called lightly. He turned to it, and Jim's eyes followed to the sound as well.

''Sherlock, wake up!" It called again, louder than before. Sherlock's face broke into a full grin. He turned to see Moriarty once more. Jim's face was confused.

''What is that?" He asked with contempt. Sherlock turned again and headed for the dark door.

''That's the sound of you losing, Jim.'' Sherlock called from over his shoulder. Jim started to walk after Sherlock, but found that his feet were glued to the spot where he stood. He looked up again to see Sherlock with his hand on the large door's handle.

''Goodbye, Jim Moriarty.'' Sherlock said before stepping through the large doorway. He could hear the sound of Moriarty crying out from behind the door.

''COME BACK! I'VE WON, SHERLOCK! I OWN YOU!" He screamed, all the Rantings of a lunatic crawling with his voice. Sherlock gazed at the door, as it steeled away the contents with large metal bars. A new sign took stead of the old one.

'Do not open.'

He turned and walked down the hall, away from the door, away from Moriarty. He reached the front of the large house, and turned to gaze at it's sound walls. He smiled to himself, before continuing down the cobblestone path until...

Sherlock opened his eyes, being greeted with the sight of Molly. She pressed her hand against his face and smiled at him. He saw John from the corner of his eye, also bearing a large grin.

''That must have been some dream you were having.'' John said. ''We've been trying to get you up for two hours now.'' Sherlock sat up from the couch, before replying.

''Yes, yes it certainly was.'' He grinned at John. His hand wrapped around Molly's. He looked to her.

''Thank you.'' He said, leaning to give her a small peck on her cheek.

''What's that for?" She asked, more amused than lost.

''You saved me, again.'' Sherlock said, before placing another small kiss on her arm, over the spot where her bandage hid the burns.

Sherlock's mind was still. For a brief moment. It thought of nothing, silence. It was oddly peaceful, until the sound of his phone broke him from his reverie. He picked it up from the table and held it to his ear.

''Sherlock Holmes.''

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The end.

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Well, what do you think? I figured having his final problem with Moriarty in his own mind would be pretty cool. Hope you enjoyed it. If you have any ideas for stories you would like someone to take a swing at, I'm open. Sometimes it's hard for me to get a good idea for a while. Thank you again for all the support and reviews on my first fic! It's been lovely, lovelies!

Laters!


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